


Coffee. Black. No Cream. No Sugar

by redlionspride



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Coffee Shops, Community: trope_bingo, Developing Relationship, Gen, M/M, Prompt Fill, au: coffee shop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 22:45:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redlionspride/pseuds/redlionspride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint works at Bishop Muffins with his strange co-worker Natasha who has a eye for detail and a stomach for muffin bottoms.</p><p>Every day a well dressed man in a suit comes in and orders the same thing. Black coffee. </p><p>He’s Clint’s most favorite customer ever.</p><p>Perhaps his favorite person as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee. Black. No Cream. No Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> Just another short fic for Trope Bingo! My second finished one though it was the first one I started. Swiftly done and not beta’d. Very much a AU story. The prompt was for AU: COFFEE SHOP. 
> 
> Comments are encouraging. But really I just hoe you enjoy!

**Prompt: AU: Coffee shop**

* * *

He went to the same coffee shop every day. 

He ordered the same coffee each time. Black. No Cream. No Sugar. It was always the simplest order to make but the one that gave Clint the highest satisfaction in his days at work. 

Clint Barton had been working at Bishops Muffins for about four months now. It was an easy job that kept him busy, paid the bills well enough and gave him a never ending supply of coffee and muffin tops. 

Yes, Muffin tops. One of his co workers, Natasha was a bit strange. The day old muffins were almost always torn up in the back, the darker bottoms pulled off and nibbled, devoured throughout the day. Never the tops. Those got left to the rest of the workers. Meaning Clint tended to live off muffin tops and free coffee. 

He'd gotten good with making coffee. Before working here he had never bothered with the fancy things. Venti, decaf, non fat, slim, skinny, raspberry pump, triple back flip espresso in a glass stein made in France and imported wrapped in goose feather, or something like that. He swore some of the people who came in made up random words to try and trick him. It took the first month to get any of it right and a few times he had to buy the wrongly made drink himself just to keep the customer from complaining. 

That's why he liked it when this one man came in. 

Nicely dressed, always in suits, very nice suits. He had a Bluetooth to his ear, his phone either in his hand or his pocket. A brief case made of some fine leather in one hand, and Clint was pretty sure those were very pricey shoes. He was a older man, but he still looked fit. Clearly he lead a life that kept him moving. Always on the go. 

Perhaps that was why he only ordered black coffee. It was the fastest thing to make in any shop anywhere. The day the man came in, at first he was sure he would be like everyone else. Weird, complex fancy coffee orders. Two or three of them. Complex things he might order for himself and a horde of other people. Clint was sure he'd get it wrong. 

So as the man came forward and ordered a simple black coffee, Clint was admittedly a bit thrown off. Nonetheless, he managed the order perfectly, took the cash, gave the man his change in a timely manner, and wished him a good day. The order was up before the man had his change in his hand. 

With a smile on his face, a nod of thanks, the man dropped a large tip into the jar, took his coffee and started out the door, finger pressing to the side of his earpiece and answering a call as he went out the door. 

If only all orders were that simple. 

Clint found himself more pleased by the fact that this one simple order came in every day. Every day that Clint was there he managed to see the man. Make the proper order with speed, and every time there was a large tip left in the tip jar. 

Large tips always helped, at the end of the day. The group of them always took the jar and split it up, even as possible. So every little bit counted. 

In his first month there, feeling he'd gotten the hang of it all, one snobby customer was still standing at the counter, giving hell to Natasha who was at the register. Clint was back on the machine, trying to get a handle of the crazy orders the woman was placing. She had nine coffees to order and she kept skipping around on what it was she wanted. Not to mention the dozen or so muffins, donuts and other assorted things she wanted. None of which she knew what she wanted, so she was taking a very long time. 

Clint saw him there though, standing behind the woman, calm as can be, the only other person in line, waiting for his time to order. He would order the same thing. One black coffee. He'd done it for the entire month Clint had been there. 

Watching poor Natasha start to go a little red in the face, trying to stay calm in the line of annoyance before her, Clint smiled at the man, apologetic for the wait. The man smiled back with a small nod, as if to say it was alright. But he kept checking his watch, not in the way that said he was upset to the wait, but in a way that said he was running short on time. 

Clint grabbed a cup, filled it with hot coffee, from the fresh brewed pot nearby and put a cap on it. He moved down to the other counter, and gave a tiny whistle, just enough to get the man's attention.

The man raised a brow, looking over to Clint, and with another encouraging nod to him, he stepped out of line. The woman at the counter didn't even notice, she was too busy trying to decide between Raspberry or Blackberry muffins. 

"You look like you're in a rush. Black coffee, right?" He said, offering the cup to the man, already in a to go cup, with a little thermal band around it. A sippy lid and a cap stop in the tip. 

"A bit, but I have a few minutes. I don't want to cut the line." He said with, what Clint felt was a charming smile. 

"It's not much of a line. More of a road block." He nudged the coffee closer. 

The man chuckled, sliding a ten dollar bill on the counter before reaching for the cup. "I'm grateful." He picked up the cup and started to back away, to go. 

"Wait, let me get your change!" lint said as he saw the man headed off. 

"What change?" The man said, giving a nod as he backed up to the door to leave. "Service well paid for. Thank you." And then he was out. 

Clint blinked down at the bill. The man just paid ten dollars for a dollar seventy five cup of coffee. He still wasn't sure what to make of that. The sound of a coffee pot going off startled him back into working. He sat the bill down near the register and finished orders. 

It was another 12 orders later that Clint got the courage to ask the man something he still didn’t know yet. 

Generally when an order is just black coffee, they don't bother asking for a name. Why bother? You pour it in a cup and hand it to them before they even have the cash ready to pay. It was fast and easy. His back up always had him covered. But today? Today was different. The coffee was still perking and there was a back order. 

“It’ll only take a moment longer then normal. I hope you don’t mind.” He said while ringing up the order. 

“No. It’s fine. I’m in no rush today.” The man said calmly, giving him that charming smile again. Clint wondered if that was a smile he gave everyone. It seemed practices and too polite, though it didn’t seem out of place on his face. The smile lines on his face said he smiled often, really. 

“May I have your name?” He asked, pointedly picking up a cup and taking a black pen to write it down.

The man chuckled, “Phil.” He said simply, dropping a large tip into the tip jar again. 

“Thanks, Phil. It’ll be just a moment.” Phil, huh? Nice. Simple. More than likely short for Philip. Clint found himself standing there, thinking that the name Philip fit him, rather well. He liked it. 

He also found himself grinning dumbly for the rest of the day. he couldn’t explain it, but the simple fact that he knew more about the Black Coffee guy in the black suits made him happy. 

“Ask him out.” Natasha said on another day, watching Clint smile like a doofus as Phil left. 

He sputtered, raising both brows at her. “What?!” 

“Ask. Him out. Not too hard.” She popped a bite of muffin bottom into her mouth then smiled a rare smile. “You’re getting really obvious is all.” And she wandered off to take a tray of baked goods out of the ovens in the back. 

Clint didn’t think he was that obvious, was he? He stressed over that for the rest of the day.  
When the man showed up the next day, getting his same black, no cream, no sugar coffee, Clint smiled nervously. What was he being obvious about? HIs like for this man? Did he like him? He didn’t even know him!

“Black coffee and a large hot white mocha.” Phil said blandly, making his order as he pulled out his wallet. 

Clint blinked and started to speak before evne thinking. “Changing it up a bit today?” He chuckled. 

“Buying for someone else today. She likes it a bit less simple then I do.” He said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. It wasn’t the same charming smile, though it was jsut as schooled. 

The order came up and he took both cups, walking outside and sitting one down before a pretty, thin young woman with dark hair. He watched for a moment longer, feeling his heart sink. 

“Ouch...” Natasha’s voice whispered from his left side. “I had him pegged wrong.” She pat his back and gave him a smile. “Or it’s nothing to worry about. Could be a co worker.” 

Clint blinked, glancing over to her with a sharp frown. “Pegged wrong? What are you talking about? Doesn’t matter who that is. It’s not like he’s--” 

“Interested in you? I beg to differ.” She pat his head, lightly, as if he were slow, and then moved off to take care of cleaning a couple of pots. “Don’t let it get you down. The smile was wrong today. That out there means nothing. It’s business. He sat the cup down instead of handing it to her, meaning less of a chance of contact. He pulled his chair further away, across from her instead of just sitting in it when it was beside her. He’s stiff. They’re talking business, and yes, before you protest that, I can read lips. A co worker. He’s being a gentleman, respectful, polite, but not interested. So don’t start pouting. ” 

And her attention to detail always amazed him. 

“I wasn’t pouting.” He pushed into a grump, moving to clean the counter. 

“Then ask him out.” 

Clint said nothing to that, ignoring her for a bit. 

Two days later and four coffee visits from Phil and Clint got braver. The man had been coming in once in the morning and afternoon now. And always had a bit of a smile for Clint. He was seeing now that they were different smiles. A polite soft smile for whoever was working the counter, and a charming smile that seemed to reach his eyes when even he made eye contact with Clint. 

On the next mornings coffee cup, Clint wrote carefully, but swiftly in black _’If i asked you out on a date would you feel offended.’_ then filled the cup, placed a thermal ring around it, which hid half the question, and passed it to the man. Part of him hoped he didn’t see the note. Part of him hoped he paid enough attention to notice it. 

For the rest of the day he was edge and jittery, wondering if it messed anything up. Wondering if it was the wrong thing to do. Maybe the man really isn't interested in men. Natasha wasn’t that amazing when it came to reading others, right? 

That afternoon, when the man came in to get his coffee, he had the same set of smiles for the same people. He paid for him drink and smiled. He moved to the other counter to receive it, giving Clint a simple smile, as he always did. “Thank you.” He said, as he always did. 

As Phil took his cup he placed a business card on the counter, and with two fingers slide it towards Clint before turning, pausing a moment to... smile, a bit more fond, before giving a nod and heading out the door, pressing his ear piece to pick up a call. 

Clint’s heart throbbed dreadfully hard in his chest as his hand reached down to gather up the card. Picking it up he turned it over. A business card. Philip J. Coulson, NSA Specialist. It had his phone, fax and email. Though there was another number hand written in. A personal number. In near perfect writing was added, to the bottom. ‘No. I would not be offended. Call anytime.’

His shift couldn’t end fast enough. He waited a respectful amount of time before he called. 

It couldn’t have gone better.

Now Phil came in and got his coffee for free, though he still always left really nice tips. When he had time he stayed in, sitting at a tall table and chatting with the workers, especially on slow hours between morning and afternoon rush. 

Natasha always gets a smirk on her face that says a lot more than Clint wants to admit her knowing, but he doesn’t mind. 

She approves and so does he.


End file.
